


Freefall

by Artan42



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek Online
Genre: mainly OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4893103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artan42/pseuds/Artan42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 2379 the Dominion War is over but the Beta Ursae block is in tatters. The major powers have withdrawn their forces from the sector, leaving behind only small rebuilding programmes. There is very little defence against the undefeated powers left there, the Breen, the Tholians and more. Starfleet has always sought to keep the peace but sometimes they aren't enough.</p>
<p>A Starfleet crew test an experimental ship under orders from unknown authority within the Federation in an attempt to stabilise the sector against the odds.</p>
<p>NB: Tagged for STO content, some plots will be used but transposed from 2409 to 2379.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Place to Start

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: British spellings throughout with occasional guest appearances from the remaining cast of DS9 and VOY.

_"Attention all hands, we will be arriving at Starbase Deep Space Nine in 15 minutes. All non-_ Atlas  _crew are required to depart the ship on arrival, please make your way to the aft docking bay now, thank you."_

 

Leo shook off the feeling feelings of apprehension as he watched the stars of the Denorios Belt streak past outside the large window of the Atlas’ guest quarters.

The last time he'd seen the frontier station _Deep Space Nine_ he was part of an evacuation task force, assisting in a Federation retreat before the Dominion occupation of the station. Now he was back again to pick up his new command, a flag flying mission of the eastern territories of the Alpha Quadrant, a mission that involved protecting the recovering Cardassian Union of all places.

Leo had walked the ruins of Cardassia Prime before, in the days after the brutal bombardment by the Dominion and the end of the War. The Cardassians were a ruined people now, pitifully really, but still, somewhere deep down, Leo still couldn't bring himself to truly pity them. He'd been in Starfleet too long for that, over 200 years, he'd seen dozens of wars with the Federation, three of them against the Cardassians and their allies. By then you stopped caring, you no longer hated your enemies but you gave no thoughts to their fate, victory was hard enough on the victors to waste time on the vanquished. Frowning slightly, he returned his attention to the PADD in his hands; his orders for his new ship, crew, and posting.

He massaged his temples; it was all so new. A week ago he was leading an escort wing as part of a colonisation flotilla in the Eta Eridani block, slowly resetting Federation and Klingon civilians from the devastated Beta Ursae block. Now he was looking at a whole new crew and staff to get to know, not to mention his new ship. No doubt a fancy new Sovereign Class, all bells and whistles and overly complicated computer systems, the pride of Starfleet and their new flag to fly. He sighed, his _Hydra_ , already reassigned to Vulcan, was only a year old. The reliable Norway Class had seen him through the war intact and he had looked forward to really getting to know her. Even after 224 years in Starfleet she was still only the eighth ship he’d commanded. Goodness knew how long it would take him to get to grips with all the idiosyncrasies for a fancy new ship like a Sovereign or Intrepid.

Scrolling down he looked at his schedule:

  * '24:00, meeting with Colonel Kira in Wardroom 6
  * 25:00, assess new Diplomatic attaché and Intelligence Officer
  * 01:30, inspection of new command
  * 08:00 departure from Starbase Deep Space 9'



Leo adjusted his uniform and looked down at his chronometer, 23:20. He absent-mindedly wondered how long it would take an outsider to acclimatise to the 26 hour clock of the Bajor system. Thankfully, for that at least, it didn't seem like he’s be here for long enough to need bother. Even with all those extra hours in a day it seemed his schedule was still crammed into the night shift. Leo was certain other admirals didn't have to put up with this, he was also certain they didn't get their ships reassigned from under them either. Even worse, however, than the timing was the secrecy of the mission, he had no idea what his new ship was, or anything about his mission beyond the sketchiest details. Hell, he didn't even get to choose his damn crew. Command had issued him with a PADD outlining his full roster and even his senior staff.

His position within Starfleet was an odd one. Already an experienced officer in the navy of his home-system he had enrolled in Starfleet Academy (then the United Earth Starfleet) in order to get to grips with the technologies and protocols of his now adopted home. It had been a bit embarrassing for Starfleet; Leo was far more experienced than anyone their officers, even more so than their Vulcan allies, but a recent graduate and a non-Human. Upon graduation he was quickly given the rank of captain and assigned a small NV Class starship purposed to assist in joint Earth-Vulcan missions in the Beta Quadrant. Then came the Earth-Romulan war, he was reassigned to the  _Endeavour_ , a refit of the NX Class with joint Coalition technology, and dispatched to the front lines. From then on Leo had found himself in the Federation’s front lines almost constantly. With Starfleet settling on the rank of Commodore, high enough to ensure he was the highest ranked member of any battle group (a reflection on his experience) but low enough to ensure he never stepped off the bridge and behind a desk. That’s wasn't to say there hadn't been attempts, Colonel West, in particular, had made it a personal mission to remove Leo from Starfleet altogether. The two had a long standing rivalry of the role of MACOs in Starfleet, and the Federation’s military forces as a whole.

Standing, Leo stretched out, absent-mindedly brushing some non-existent dust from red shoulders of his uniform. Much to the consternation of Starfleet command it remained the custom style he created as a constant for the crews of all his vessels. A small symbol of rebellion that was technically permissible by Starfleet codes anyway. A quick inspection of his room produced a large standard issue kit-bag, showcasing two centuries of knick-knacks and memorabilia, depressingly able to fit into a square metre. As well as an ensign’s rank pip he found under a cushion. He placed the pip on the table by the door, then shouldering the bag; he set off for deck 4 and the docking bay.

Climbing into the grey tube Leo announced his destination to the computer and watched as the doors started to close, squeaking slightly as they did. Before the doors could close fully, a hand shot in, opening them again. Attached to the hand was a science officer, a Trill.

"Oof, just in time eh? I almost missed it, imagine that. I'd be stuck on this boat forever, I wouldn't like that, it's too narrow, and it smells. Docking bay please computer, sorry was that your foot, oh hi umm... Sir, sorry, I'm Dr Zrilla, your new science officer".

"Well I must commend you on your impressive lung capacity Doctor, though an occasional breathe every now and then might help. I'd, um, welcome you aboard but I'm a bit short of a ship at the moment, sorry".

One three minute lift ride later and Leo had learnt the doctor's entire life story as well as the start of her symbiont’s last host’s life. He had to admit it though, her credentials were impressive, with four doctorates in fields he couldn't even pronounce and the symbiont’s service record rivalled his own, at almost 200 years.

Stepping out of the blue light of the turbolift and into the grey and brown of the corridor he found himself subconsciously crossing his fingers that the rest of his command crew were as experienced. And if not? Well, the next time he visited command, there would be… words. Even going by the scarce details of his mission, it looked like all the experience available would be needed. This entire sector was still reeling from the war, Breen raiders, still riding high on power, True Way terrorists, whose refusal to accept the war’s end or acknowledge the Dominion's betrayal was as worrisome as it was perplexing, and Son’a rebels desperately claiming worlds belonging to their one time allies. This was no place for still-green cadets fresh out of the Academy. Slightly sadly he looked at the blue collar on his new science officers uniform, there wasn't going to be many blue shirts on his new ship, the borderlands were no place for geologists, archaeologists or stellar-cartographers.

The dark haired trill looked round at her new captain

“Sir? Is there something on my neck? I mean, I had a rash, but it’s gone now, I mean it went... weeks ago, sir?”

“Not at all commander, I was just making a mental note to let you know about my uniform code. You should find the replicator patterns in your transfer orders, there’s a tailors shop on the main promenade of the station, the entire crew’s running on my credit though, so stick to just the uniforms please.”

“The crew? Your credit? That’s over 800 people, no 815 people exactly... no hold on, you've already got one, so 814, wait... no, you’d have to have paid for yours as well, so 8...” “Doctor, breath, please”.

Leo could practically feel a headache starting

“I've already got mine so I don’t need to buy one, as for the cost, I have a nice stockpile of Latinum from breaking the Siege of Ferenginar.”

That turned out to be a mistake. The next four, uncomfortable minutes were filled with a mixture of thinly disguised hero worship and a strange amount of levity on the subject of the War.

“...But then I was transferred to Betazed, wasn't there for long, then I got moved to Gornar with the Sixth Fleet, imagine our surprise when we got there and found the Romulans had already liberated it, and who was leading them? That was you wasn't it sir. Well then I...”

_“Attention all hands”_ The main computer displayed an impeccable sense of timing as it interrupted _“we are now docking with Starbase_ Deep Space Nine _, please take all belongings with you.”_

Leo and Zrilla joined the throng of people moving towards the docking bay doors. Moving through, Leo looked up, watching the clean, sterile, grey of the federation corridor give way to the alien bronze and brown of the Cardassian room. Judging from the size of the clamps they were on one of the three upper docking arms, the only arms large enough to berth a Galaxy Class like the _Atlas_.

Standing in amongst the crowd, but facing the other way, were two officers; a tall Human and a shorter Trill, both with green collars.

“Commodore Leo I presume” the Human said in a slightly clipped accent, English perhaps thought Leo.

“Welcome aboard, I'm Doctor Bashir CMO and currently acting XO” then, gesturing to his right towards the Trill, “This is Ezri Dax, station counsellor. I'm here to escort you to the Wardroom”.

“Thank you Doctor, it’s nice to be here under more peaceful circumstances.”

The Doctor’s eye twitched slightly and his shoulders dropped a bit, he recovered quickly before continuing, “Ezri will escort your officer to Cargo Bay 3, your crew are assembling there, there’s an inventory of medical supplies we’re transferring from the station to your ship and we can’t get hold of your CMO for some reason, so we’re hoping Doctor Zrilla can assist.”

Leo cast his mind back to the PADD he had read on the Atlas CMO… CMO… C.M.O? Vulcan wasn't it? One of those ‘ess’ names Solvik maybe? Solvok hmm, yes that was it, Solvok. It wasn't like a Vulcan to not be punctual. “I’ll see if I can get hold of him as soon as I've seen Colonel… Kira isn't it?”

“Yes sir, she’s up in the Wardroom now. Ezri, can you take the Commodore’s bag down to the cargo bay please?”

The Counsellor took the bag from Leo and motioned to Zrilla to follow on after her. As both Trills turned the corner, Leo heard Ezri’s sarcastic reply to the Doctor.

“Sure Julian, I mean it’s not as if the bag’s bigger than me or anything, I’m sure the Commodore could carry it himself if all those pips weren't weighing him down.”

Leo hurried along after Doctor Bashir just as he could hear Zrilla starting to talk.

 

As the two men entered the turbolift down to the promenade an uncomfortable silence was starting to develop.

"Is there a problem Doctor?" asked Leo, as much to break the silence as anything else.

"Permission to speak freely sir?"

"Granted."

"You recommended against additional fleet reinforcements to assist in the Operation Return in the war, suggesting, instead, that they be sent to the Terradon System. Quite frankly sir, I want to know why."

"I'm not going to apologise Doctor, if that's what you want. Those ships had another mission. A mission that's still classified. I'm sorry, but you don't get all your answers today. But that's not it is it Doctor? The look on your face when we met in the docking arm, that wasn't recognition, that was cataloguing, you were seeing if I measured up."

Bashir paused for a moment, no doubt judging what to say next. "I didn't know who you were sir.” He answered. “I'd seen your name before. In the mind of Luther Slone. Honestly sir, I wanted to see the sort of person who was at the forefront of his…, of Section 31's mind."

"Computer. Halt turbolift." Leo looked round at the doctor and decided to risk it… "Doctor, I'm going to work off of a few assumptions here. You are a genetically enhanced augment. Well mentally enhanced anyway." It was a statement not a question. Bashir opened his mouth… "No Doctor, don't interrupt yet." "Enhanced intelligence and increased memory, combined with the unassuming cover as a Federation doctor. The perfect operative, doctors can go anywhere, even in a war. Everybody eventually has health problems and Federation doctors are renowned, sometimes, against all odds, a patient doesn't pull through, could be a gardener, a shop keeper, a high ranking member of the Romulan Continuing Committee. Section 31 recruited you a while ago. Your posting, here on DS9, was the icing on the bun for Slone. How'd I do?"

“Almost perfect sir, only one small detail you got wrong. It's cake sir, icing on the cake.” “You’re right Slone did try and recruit me, I resisted, but somehow he… you didn't answer my question sir. Why were you at the forefront of Slone's mind?"

Leo paused a moment, he needed to have judged Bashir correctly here. If his tip from his Romulan friend was correct, Bashir was not an operative, not willingly anyway. "Harris, T'Chell, Marcus, Cartwright, M'tella, Dobson, Doherty, and Slone. I doubt many of these names mean anything to you Doctor; they were all members of Section 31. I've been watching these people since a man called Harris attempted to recruit me to Section 31 after my graduation from the Academy. An organisation, such as that, I believe, should not exist without some form of oversight or accountability." “Now here comes the stinger Doctor. I do not dispute Section 31’s place in the Federation nor do I disagree with the majority their operations, as they are only ever in service to the Federation. I simply wish they were accountable; everybody needs to be able to be held accountable someday.” “Once upon a time they were, it wasn't until, roughly the end of the previous Federation-Cardassian wars that they started to go off reservation, more and more operations undertaken without authorisation from the Council. Then came the War, their shining moment, a chance to show the Council they were the saviours of the Federation, they didn't need oversight, they could end a war all by themselves. Then they revealed their plan. Genocide. For good or for ill, the Federation wouldn't even sanction that against the Borg despite us possessing that ability. To end a war through total annihilation of the enemy… they might have died, but we would still have lost.”

Leo waited, there was a lack of caution here, but he wouldn't be on DS9 for very long and he needed to make it count. “I need to see Section 31 in the light again Doctor, I'm not saying we announce their operations on the cortex ahead of time, but they need oversight, and we need them.”

“If you’re planning on holding Section 31 accountable sir, you can count on my help.” Bashir hesitated, “But Slone's dead, I have had no contact with Section 31 since then. I'm not sure how I can help, I've been unable to track down any existing operatives or ascertain the identity of their new leader.”

Leo restarted the lift, “I have their leader Doctor, or at least I will have soon. All I require of you is to be ready when the time comes.”

“Ready for what?”

“To do you duty Doctor.”

There was a small ring as the turbolift announced it had stopped.

“I’ll be in contact in time Doctor” said Leo as he exited the lift towards the Wardroom doors, “Thank you”.

“Understood sir” replied Bashir as the doors to the lift closed to take him off up to the Operations Centre.

Leo looked around the lobby, more Cardassian architecture. This room however, had been re-panelled, possibly a repair job, but he could see the underlying structure, the bronze and tan arches and struts now covered with grey panels.

On the opposite wall a Federation wall console, its LCARS blues and pinks juxtaposed against the Cardassian conduit junction that was open below. Next to the console was a woman, leant against the wall with her ear to it, seemingly unaware that Leo was even in the room, though she could hardly have failed to hear him dismiss the doctor.

He concentrated on the wall and caught a glimpse of what the woman must be listening to. Raised voices. Very raised voices. Two women. Bajoran, by the sound of their accents. One was native and the other was either from an off world colony or had served on a Federation ship, judging from the slightly different vowel sounds.

“You’ll be ma new cap’n then”. The woman on the wall spoke suddenly, turning around to face Leo, “Lieutenant Commander Maddi McWilliams, you new tactical officer.”

Her pronunciation of her rank made Leo briefly wonder if there were such a rank as a right-tenant. Scottish, he thought, probably ex-navy. Even after three centuries of a united Earth, the British Navy still kept a complicated array of strange customs. Their odd salute was one thing, but then there was the rum? Leo wasn't entirely sure what the point of giving each sailor a portion of distilled sugar per day was, it seemed somehow counter-productive.

He shifted his position so she was no longer under the glare of the, slightly too bright, lights. To his surprise, she was already dressed to his uniform code, complete with the grey shoulders he’d assigned for security and tactical personnel.

“A pleasure to meet you Commander; though I wasn't expecting to be introduced to any of my staff until after my briefing with Colonel Kira.”

“Oh, aye, though I wasnae supposed to be meeting you either, I was sent up here for a briefing with the station’s Defence Chief about transferring a shipment of torpedoes.”

She paused and looked round at the doors to the wardroom. “That’s her in there, by the way. Lieutenant Ro. Sounds like she dosnae get on well with whoever else is inside.

Leo sighed, that’s all he needed, an end of the night meeting with an officer who sounded at the end of her tether and whom, apparently, dealt with a conflict with her security chief by getting into a yelling match. Bajorans, thought Leo, sometimes it was like dealing with Klingons.

“So what are we meant tae do sir? Do we interrupt, or diplomatically sidle off doon tae th' pub on the promenade and cut our losses with a drink?”

“As good as that sounds Commander, I'm not, going back now, I've had a four day flight with almost no sleep, I'm being kept in the dark by Command about my new ship, and, so far, I've met a grand total of two members of my new staff.” “ _'24:00, meeting with Colonel Kira in Wardroom 6’_ , it’s 24:00 and I going to meet with the Colonel, whether she likes it or not. You coming Williams?”

“Aye sir. _Mc_ Williams sir.”

Leo strode over to the copper coloured doors. It was hard to make a dramatic entrance through automatic doors; they opened very slowly. So Leo didn't bother, he just made an entrance.

“I hope I'm not interrupting” interrupted Leo as he moved through the doors and past the bottom end of the conference table past the taller of the two Bajorans. Hmm, thought Leo, is that earring on the other side? He glanced at her uniform, blue-grey; she must be Lieutenant Ro. At the other end of the table, with a PADD in her hands, knuckles turning white, was a red uniformed Bajoran. Even without the command uniform, the lines on her face and the tone of her voice and the overall aura of sleeplessness marked her down as the station’s commander.

Leo continued around the table until he was next to the colonel. “Commodore Leo, Colonel, we have a meeting scheduled for now. I apologise for the interruption, but I was told there is somewhat of a hurry.”

“Ro, you’re dismissed, just keep them under surveillance until they leave, but I can’t just impound freighters on a hunch.”

Ro Laren saluted, a bit sarcastically Leo thought, and rounded out of the doors, Commander McWilliams following her out.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that sir, it was a Nyberrite freighter, Ro received a tip they were smuggling polaron rifles to the Son’a. There’s no proof yet, I can’t lock down a freighter on a tip, especially not when I need to clear out all six arms for the Romulan 9th fleet in two days time…” She paused, “But that’s not your concern sir” She straightened her uniform as she stood up. “In two hours you’re scheduled to take command of your new ship departing from DS9 within a few hours from then. Before you ask, no I don’t know what ship it is or even where the hell it is, I just know you’re due to board from docking arm four in two hours.”

Colonel Kira then spent the next three quarters of an hour outlining the tense political situation of the Beta Ursae sector block, and the Federation’s missions therein. Cardassia Prime was their priority, much to the colonel’s chagrin, she felt for them now, she could never come to forgive them, but she couldn't hate them forever, not after seeing Damar die like that. Still, there were other casualties of the War, casualties that hadn’t allied with the Dominion. Didn’t the Bajoran colonies deserve to be rebuilt? Federation worlds as well? There were already new splinter groups of Marquis setting out to steal resources destined for Cardassian worlds for their own. That’s why Starfleet command had assigned Ro Laren to her. As a Bajoran and a member of the Federation and the Marquis it was hoped she could be of some use out here. Within a month she would be receiving replacements for Worf and O’Brien; Starfleet officers who also used to be Marquis, Commander Chakotay and B'elanna Torres redeployed from the U.S.S. _Voyager_ ; a ship that, ironically, had been lost in the Delta Quadrant after a mission to the badlands to capture Marquis.

“…We can deal with the Marquis sir; they’re not a problem, that’s not why you’re here” finished off Kira, “Starfleet wants you to scare off the Breen and anyone else who might want to pick a fight out here. Starfleet’s low on ships and crews and the Federation is redeploying most of them to the Beta Quadrant.”

“I've heard whispers of why Colonel, I don’t like it, I tried to argue for a more equal distribution of ships per quadrant and in response I was sent out here.”

“Well, we…” a ding from the compad in the desk in front of her interrupted Kira before she finished, she listened to the message, acknowledged it, and turned back to Leo, “That was Opps sir; apparently there are two of your new officers to meet you in here in 5 minutes. A diplomatic attaché and an intelligence officer; I don’t know what type of ship you’re getting sir but I've never known one to need both.”

“Starfleet seems to enjoy inventing new positions, when I started out I had a senior staff of five, according to my orders I now have one of 12, including me.” Leo placed his hands on his face; the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him, “is there anything else I should know before I depart Colonel?”

“I don’t know if command mentioned it or whether or not it was in your orders, but the U.S.S. _T’Velk_ went missing last week along the old Breen border, I can send you the coordinates to its last known position if you are patrolling that region. I've been trying to send the _Defiant_ for the past few days, but I was ordered to send it on an escort through the wormhole.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it Colonel, if we end up in that neck of the woods.”

Kira got up from the head of the table and moved down towards the door, “I once objected to this place being called the frontier sir, but now I see it is, make sure you don’t forget that whilst you’re out there, you’re just one ship against the black now.”

Leo nodded at her as she turned out of the doors and hailed the turbolift. He wasn't overly concerned yet, he’d been on the frontier before, back in the old days most of the Beta Quadrant had been a frontier, before the peace with the Klingons and Romulans.

There was a whooshing sound as the wardroom doors opened again, three people entered with a familiar face was amongst them.


	2. And still they come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: British spellings throughout with occasional guest appearances from the remaining cast of DS9 and VOY.

**Quark's Bar, 24:20**

"Dabo!!!!!"

“Five games in a row friend, you’re really on a roll today.”

“Any chance you could be persuaded to spend some of that latinum on some prime food or beverages at the bar? As a special offer today we have a special offer on root beer, it’s a special offer not to be missed.” Quorn looked, hopefully, up at the odd man in a yellow Starfleet uniform. The Ferengi could see himself reflected in the man’s eyes. The way he stood, all still and non-twitchy, or the way he tilted his head to the side when surprised rather than just lifting his eyebrows. Not having eyebrows wasn't an excuse, thought Quorn; everything about that man was off-putting. And he won every game he’d played, the Ferengi had rigged the table twice now and the man had still won, and the worst part was, he wasn't cheating, he was just winning at astronomical odds. He’d even won at darts. Quorn had followed some strange notes left by the bars previous owner (before he’d mysteriously returned to the homeworld), to place small magnets behind certain numbers on the circular board of cork. He wasn't even sure why; the only person who ever played the game was the Doctor, and everybody knew he was enhanced, strategic magnets or no, he couldn't be beaten.

Couldn't be beaten until this blank eyed, shiny faced, non-blinking man had arrived two days ago. Since then the House had lost over 12 strips of GPL and other patrons a further 22, if it wasn't for the fact the man’s lucky streak had earnt the House 19 strips, from punters desperate to steal his luck, or to bet on him, he’d have politely bared by now. Quorn sighed as the man turned down his offer of food or drink, choosing instead to move over to the tongo table and place a substantial opening wager. Quorn sighed again and decided to sit down at the table as well. Forget the rest of the games, tongo was a matter of Ferengi pride, he couldn't lose this one.

Nursing an Andorian Ale on the top level of Quarks Bar and Ferengi Embassy, a large hulking Andorian peered over the balcony rails watching the brightly dressed Ferengi lose at tongo against the Android, L4. Dorn inspected his drink some more; he got along well with L4, even enough to leave his data programming back in his quarters for the evening and come out to this loud, noisy, loud bar.

It wasn't that he disliked other people, thought Dorn, it’s just he disliked the noises they made, or the way they pushed past each other, touching, or the irritating small talk that benefited nobody. Computers didn't do any of that, they made little noise, simply humming when working, they didn't move (L4 excused of course), and never wasted time on meaningless minutia. He ordered a fourth drink from the barely dressed Deltan than took his order. Don’t they get cold up here? He thought, it’s warmer down on the dabo floor but it gets colder up at the top. He finished off his third drink already regretting his choice to come out today, he should have stayed in his quarters; psyching himself up about this transfer.

Two weeks ago, he and L4 had been working on Deep Space Relay Station 25, on the Beta/Alpha border, five years of maintaining computers in the wilderness, with a crew of five, it had been paradise. Then, out of the blue, or rather out of the black, a tetchy woman in a Starfleet admiral’s uniform had told him and L4 they were being reassigned to a classified mission departing from Starbase _Deep Space Nine_ in two weeks.

I really should have taken that offer of a counsellor, thought Dorn, as he nodded his thanks to the potentially tepid Deltan whilst passing along a three slip tip. An additional strip of GPL was added to the Deltan’s tip as L4 emerged from the top of the spiral staircase. He sat down in front of Dorn still holding a tongo card. Dorn raised an eyebrow at the card.

“Mr Quorn could not wait for the hand to be played; he said he had an emergency to attend to. This resulted in myself being manoeuvred to the stairs, as he returned to his office. I am unsure as to the nature of his emergency, but it would appear to involve a high pitched sobbing noise. I believe he, or one of his relatives, may be unwell.” L4 tilted his head slightly, “or possibly a dear pet. Their illnesses also enamour feelings of sorrow do they not?”

“You just cleaned him up for one whole brick of GPL mate, that’s gotta be more upsetting than a sick vole, or even a sick _Moogie_.” Dorn took a bigger sip of his new drink.

“Look ‘Ell’ can we call it a draw? I'm partway through the new software updates and this noise is driving me bonkers; we've got three hours or so until we need to be in the cargo bay for departure, I just wanna pack up in peace.”

“It is understandable you wish to seclude yourself once more my friend, however you are not just joining a ship’s crew. You will be the Chief Operations Officer. You will be a department head, a member of the senior staff, and part of a large team. It would be a sadness for you to remain isolated from others and a disservice to them.” L4 looked up directly at Dorn’s face and continued, “This is a new crew and a new opportunity. My recommendation would be to purchase our new uniforms and go down to the cargo bay and integrate ourselves to our new teams.” The Android paused, calculating a new angle of persuasion. “If you ascertain they are not to your liking, you are under no obligation to socialise with them out of duty hours, I will however, remain your friend should you require social interaction.”

“Thanks ‘Ell’.” Dorn smiled slightly, for the first time that evening. “I suppose nobody there knows each other either, we’re all in the same boat, or ‘same ship’ you could say.” He chuckled slightly.

“I do not believe I would say that.” Said L4 as he stood to leave, depositing the tongo card back on the table. “Both boat and ship have different and distinct definitions…”

The conversation continued as the two officers rounded the corner heading for the turbolift down to the promenade.

“Not at all my good man, it makes you look distinguished. A fine specimen of Starfleet if I must say.”

“Look Garak, it’s too tight, see, you've made the top to tight around the bottom, I didn't want an off the rack uniform, if I did I wouldn't be here would I?”

Garak, the Cardassian tailor of DS9, studied the man for a brief moment, deciding if tailoring was what this man needed from him, or whether another of his… skills would be more appropriate to solving this little problem. Thankfully Garak’s mind was distracted from musings of accidents, with hemming scissors, by the sound of the doors opening.

“Ah, gentlemen, you must be here for the mystery admiral’s new crew.”

“Take a seat over there whilst I deal with this young man.” “Now my friend, I've taken your measurements this time, I’ll have your new uniform sorted in half an hour, it’s possible you made a mistake when giving me your measurements before, Bajoran units do cause that sort of confusion.”

The man exited out through the doors. L4 looked at the PADD with the measurements written on it.

“These figures appear to be correct; would it not have been easier to inform him that he is overweight by several kilogrammes?”

“What, and miss an opportunity for a good lie. My dear sir, you should never pass up such an opportunity. Besides, the customer is always right.”

Straightening out his top and spreading his arms, Garak turned to the two new customers, “So what fine examples of tailoring are we looking for here gentlemen?”

“C6 yellow, Operations and Engineering, two sets apiece and an additional two engineering specific jumpsuits for myself and an operations work-coat for my friend.” Dorn nodded in agreement from the back.

“Thank you, now I don’t suppose you know your measurements as well?”

L4 did. In Federation metric and Bajoran 2nd and 3rd systems, he also gave them in 3 different Cardassian systems, one of which was only ever used in one small country on Cardassia Prime over 800 years ago.

“Always a pleasure to serve a customer who knows exactly what they want,” said Garak as he packed their new uniforms into garment bags.

The two men paid for the uniforms from Leo’s account and exited the shop. “I have just been in contact with the stations computer system; a crewman will be directed to our quarters to package our belongings for transit, I have left specific instructions to save your current work an forward it directly to your PADD when we board.”

“You’re just trying to get us to the cargo bay aint you ‘Ell’.”

“Indeed I am. I believe the quicker I do so, the easier it will be for you. Stagnation will lead to nervousness, which will only exacerbate your isolation.”

“Dammit ‘Ell’, I know what you’re doing, you don’t need to say it, not like that.” Dorn shook his head and steeled himself, “Let’s just get this over with.”

They approached the nearest turbolift, next to a small confectionery stand, and hailed it. The lift must have already been on its way down as the doors opened immediately revealing two women inside.

“Aye, and the same to you then.” Said the red-headed one as the taller Bajoran stepped out onto the promenade waving bye. “You lads going doon?”

“Indeed we are” replied L4 as the pair stepped into the lift, as Dorn nodded in the background.

“Cargo bay 3 please computer.”

L4 turned to McWilliams. “I assume you are also a member of the same crew assembling down in the cargo bay Lieutenant Commander.”

“Aye I am, Maddi McWilliams, tactical officer, you?”

“I am Lieutenant Commander L4, the chief engineer and this is Lieutenant Commander Dorn the operations officer, it is good to meet you Commander.”

“Please, call me Maddi, it’s no like we’re gonnae be strangers.” She looked over at Dorn, “operations chief eh? You’ll be sat across frae me then.” Dorn looked across and held out his hand but didn't reply. Maddi shook his hand but didn't press the issue. “I dinnae mind a bit of silence to teel ye the truth, it’s been a hectic last hour.”

 _“Habitat ring.”_ The computer broke that silence briefly to announce an unscheduled stop a few decks shy of their destination.

“…So yes, anyway, nice to have seen you, yes sorry about that, I wasn't aiming for your fingers, I mean I wasn't aiming at all, not at you, sorry, not at anybody, it was…” The doors closed trapping Dr Zrilla in with the other three. “Oh, hi there, oh, you’re heading for my ship, I'm Doctor Zrilla. Hey, you’ll never guess what happened to me on the way back from the cargo bay…”

 

**Cargo bay 3, 24:56**

Dorn wasn't sure if his people had gods, but he thanked them anyway, on the off-chance, when the turbolift reached the cargo bay in less than a minute. Headache he thought, he could feel it crawling up the dual ridges on his forehead, he needed air, or a quiet corner to go sit in for a few minutes. He was glad he was sitting near the Human woman on the bridge and not the Trill; it would appear she knew how to read a room and when someone just didn't want to talk.

“Incoming!” A small black and white ball passed over Dorn’s antennae, the pressure change causing him to wince, and the headache to move further up his ridges.

“Sorry!” A short, heavily muscled Human, wearing red uniform, with silver tinted eyeglasses ran after the ball chased by a tall Trill, also in red, but who looked to be about 70. The ball bounced through a throng of mixed crewmen, all looking very young and new, causing them to scatter slightly as the two dark skinned officers ran through them to chase their target. Dorn edged backwards to find L4. The Android was stood against the back wall of the cargo bay talking to the tactical officer from the lift and a Vulcan. Dorn moved closer to the little group. Hang on, he thought, he isn’t a Vulcan, he’s a Romulan, in a Starfleet uniform!

“…Only to find the incompetent officials had given my stock to a Trill to sort out, she organised the whole inventory under ‘M’ for medical supplies. I wouldn't have even been late if it were not for that infernal creature in the Bar, he just would not stop talking.”

L4 saw Dorn edging over and gestured for him to join. “Dorn this is Doctor Solvok, the crew’s C.M.O., Doctor, this is our operations officer, Dorn.”

“A Romulan?” Said Dorn, a little louder than he expected, “Sorry.”

“Do not be absurd, there are no Romulans in Starfleet, why on Vulcan would you jump to such a mistaken conclusion?”

Dorn hesitated “Your, um, forehead ridges.” He stuttered.

“There are Romulans with that feature and there are Romulans without, there are also Vulcans with and Vulcans without, it is a recessive trait caused by certain portions of a DNA sequence becoming active, it is hardly uncommon. A similar feature has been observed amongst your species, there are Andorians who lack the twin antennae extensions onto the forehead and those that posses it, yourself for instance. However your race does not possess an illogical and irrational dislike for a perfectly natural feature of genetic deviation, nor do you often turn to surgical means to remove such a deviance from the supposed ‘genetic norm’.” The Vulcan’s last words were spoken with a slightly bitter tone, one that contrasted to the earlier, sardonic, condescending tone he had possessed. Solvok raised an eyebrow and smoothed down the front of his blue trimmed jacket,

“I will have to go and speak to the ‘Doctor’ about her organisational skills; they leave much to be desired. I am fortunate I am not a bridge officer; I cannot work with lackadaisical chaos.”

“Weel, he was a bloody ray of sunshine, a real laugh a minute. I hope I’ll no get sick at any point in our wee trip roon to the borders.”

“I have no full knowledge our mission parameters, are you in possession of more data with regards as to our purpose on this posting?”

“Nope, I used up ma supply of darta with the ‘borders’ comment, ya guess is as good as mine.” She moved away from the group, “Anyway, pleasure to meet youse. No doubt I’ll be seeing ya soon enough.”

She set off out towards the other side of the docking bay shouting at a gaggle of grey striped crew, her new tactical department.

“Sorry ‘El’, I didn't realise I’d said that out loud.” Dorn shuffled uncomfortably on the spot.

“I wouldn't worry overly my friend; it would appear the Doctor appreciates an opportunity to provide expository dialogue. I understand the sample size is not statistically significant at present, but have you take a liking to the crew we’ve met thus far?”

“Well Maddi seemed nice, Zrilla as well, well until she started talking. The Doctor is exactly the wrong sort, the man in the shop was delusional, and those two jokers, over there, act like children, the taller one looks old enough to retire.” Dorn swallowed to calm his breathing, “We need a big ship ‘Ell’; I can’t be stuck on a Defiant or Sabre with that lot.” Dorn laughed darkly, “We should have killed that admiral, chucked her overboard, and nobody would have noticed her missing for weeks. We could even have altered the computer records to say she never arrived at the station.”

“I do not believe that would have been appropriate behaviour Dorn.” L4 paused for ironic effect, “It would have been far more efficient to enable the destruction of the shuttle before it docked at our station, thereby further entrenching out alibis.”

“Sometimes you worry me mate” Dorn rolled his eyes and pointed towards a group of yellow shirted crew in the centre of the room. “I assume amongst that bunch are out teams, let’s go and say hi, before I change my mind.”

 

**Wardroom 6, 25:00.**

“T’oran, I didn't expect to see you here, it’s nice to see a familiar face.”

“It is agreeable to see you as well Leo.” The tall Vulcan moved round to the head of the table to sit himself to Leo’s right and took out a PADD. Following behind him were a short human with south eastern Asian features but a physique that marked him as a native Lunan, and a taller female. The female was oddly striking; her eyes were all black with no discernible pupils or irises; Batazoid then thought Leo. As she moved through under the yellow Cardassian lights her eyes seemed to vanish into her head under the shadow from her head. Leo looked closer as she moved nearer to the table; no eyebrows he thought, a trait they both shared, though it was far more obvious on Leo as it contrasted with his long hair, the woman however was bald.

“Half Deltan, half Batazoid” she said suddenly as if guessing his question, “twice the telepathy, half the hair” she grinned broadly as she sat down to Leo’s left.

The shorter man remained standing to her left.

“Achabi Mia” she said holding out her hand “Consular Achabi Mia. I’ll be your diplomatic officer, ambassador, cultural relations, and any other odd-job you need relating to people.”

“Welcome aboard Achabi” said Leo taking her hand, that’s a strong grip for a pen-pusher he thought, before letting go.

“Mia please sir, Achabi’s a clan name, not mine.”

“Mia it is then, and it’s Leo not sir, if we’re getting to first names.” Leo swivelled on his chair to face the final member of the group, “Hero Satho I presume, my Intel Officer?”

The man inclined his head to the side in a nod,

“it is pronounced Her-o sir not He-ro.” “Sub-Unit Under Director with Starfleet Intelligence for 19 years following 23 years as a cryptographic analyst for the Turing outpost on Starbase K7. It is a pleasure to finally take my job to the stars.”

He had a strong New Manchester accent with a bit of Sea of Tranquillity influence with faint glottal stops. Leo noticed he took less breathes in a sentence than Dr Zrilla.

“Well, welcome to the stars then Hero.” He paused and inched back slightly to see all three, “or rather, welcome all of you.”

Leo then turned to his right, “T’oran, as good as it is to see you, I already have a tactical officer and a security officer…”

“I was retained as a flight deck controller and auxiliary craft handler by order of Starfleet Command” the one eyed Vulcan grimaced, “I was retired, forcefully, two years ago, apparently 190 years is too long to serve as a pilot.” T’oran placed the slid the PADD in front of Leo, “That is V’Kal, a small lakeside town in Darthan on Bajor, I had just built a house, now I find myself back in an ill-fitting uniform ready to push shuttles around when I should be fishing or writing, or whatever one is supposed to do with retirement.”

“It’s a nice house T’oran” said Leo as he handed the PADD back, “but a flight deck officer?” I wasn't expecting to carry fighter craft.” He looked round at the other two officers on his left, “did either of you know of this?”

Mia shook her head but Hero spoke, “I had been instructed to research the usage of fighter-fighter and fighter-capital combat amongst various militaries in this sector, and to coordinate with Commander T’oran to stock out hangar and shuttle bays.”

“We’re carrying both?” Leo was slightly shocked, very few ships even carried fighter craft to begin with, and those that did had little use for shuttle craft as well. U.S.S. Cannonfodder they were known as in the War (regardless of their original name), Curry and Shelly Class carriers, rusting hulks of ships built before the Kitomer Accords, stocked up with Peregrine fighters and crewed by the insane, those ships hardly ever saw out even two battles.

“An inventory of 20 Peregrine Class fighters, 10 Venture and 15 Argo Class runabouts, 5 Type 11 shuttlecraft, 30 assorted Type 9 and 10 shuttlepods, and 1 of those new Delta flyers.” Reeled off Hero, “according to my orders, your new command was stocked with these auxiliary craft two days ago at an undisclosed location and they will be fully operational by the time the ship gets here later today.”

“In addition I have a pilot division within the tactical department Leo, 40 fighter pilots and 60 assorted controllers, technicians, and ancillary staff,” added T’oran still looking down at his PADD.

“Forget flying the flag, this looks like we’re going to war,” Leo was getting more pissed off by the second, “Command better have a bleeding good reason why we’re armed like Klingons for a simple border patrol, I get that we’re not exactly exploring strange new worlds but there’s a difference between intimidation and antagonisation.”

“You've also got me” piped in Mia, grinning widely, “you can’t start a war with me on-board, I'm damn sure I'm more convincing than 20 fighter craft,” she paused, her smile getting wider, “well I hope so anyway,” she laughed.

Leo stretched back on his chair, “you know, I first came to the Federation from my home to escape a war and it’s been a sad irony I've ended up in more wars here than I ever did back home.”

“You’re not a Fed!? Asked Mia, “sorry, I just assumed you were Human.”

“Human? No,” Leo scoffed, “you seen many Humans with reflective eyes or retractable claws?” I had a home, it's up north, past Romulan space, I stole a ship and ran from the final days of a war before I crash-landed on Andor then journeyed to Earth. I was very important you know."

“Oh right, is that it, important?” grinned Mia, “Well I'm Matron of the Eight House, Keeper of the Silver Gate, and Witness to the Sacred Chamberpot of Rixx.”

“You have no idea what any of those things you just said are do you,” said Leo, slightly smiling properly for the first time.

“Not. A. Smidgen. Never left Delta IX in my life until I finally escaped the 28 hour a day…” She paused, her smile becoming uncomfortably wide, “…book clubs, day in, day out, book after book after book. It’s nice to not suffer from constant… eyestrain all the time.”

Hero raised an eyebrow archly and T’oran continued to browse for retirement advice, or whatever he was doing. Leo, however, actually laughed out loud. Feeling slightly more upbeat and less likely to kill whomever was sending him down the rabbit hole; Leo looked down and pulled out his PADD looking for the admiral who signed it off,

“We've just finished a devastation two quadrant war; I’ll be dammed if we start another, let’s see what Admiral…” he scrolled down “Nadir has to say about this situation.”

Leo accessed the Admirals call codes and inputted them on the compad on the desk in front of him and waited.

 

**DS9 Operations Centre, 25:49**

“Nerys?” Ezri Dax called over to the colonel from her station just in front of the Operations room transporter.

Colonel Kira walked over from the centre table and up the short steps to face Dax.

“What is it Ezri?” she asked looking down at the science station and the meaningless waves and numbers.

“About three minutes ago I picked up a high concentration of tetryon particles clustered along a shipping lane towards the upper docking arms then it just ‘kinda vanished.”

“What does that mean then” asked Kira, if she had a strip of latinum for every stray particle this station picked up she’d be able to buy Quark’s.

“It means you need a proper science officer Nerys. I'm not Jadzia, I'm a councillor not a physicist, you’re lucky I can remember what all the coloured lines mean.” She grinned, “It’s most likely nothing; I’ll check the database and see if it’s happened before.”

“You do that then; I’ll try remember to ask Bill to send us a science officer along with our new XO and Operations chief.” She looked down at the Bajoran PAAD she was holding,

“ _Aefvadh enriov. Hlmnae emael ih hllue khru_.”

“Nerys?”

“Romulans, in two days.” Kira stifled a yawn, “sorry, I’ll go practice in my office, let me know if you find anything about those tachyons.”

“Tetryons.”

Ezri watched Kira move off towards her office still reading from her PAAD, she swivelled round to the smaller library console to her right and inputted ‘tetryons’.


End file.
